gremlin mode out in the forest

The Moths by Mary Oliver

There’s a kind of white moth, I don’t know

what kind, that glimmers

by mid-May

in the forest, just

as the pink mocassin flowers

are rising.

If you notice anything,

it leads you to notice

more

and more.

And anyway

I was so full of energy.

I was always running around, looking

at this and that.

If I stopped

the pain

was unbearable.

If I stopped and thought, maybe

the world

can’t be saved,

the pain

was unbearable.

Finally, I noticed enough.

All around me in the forest

the white moths floated.

How long do they live, fluttering

in and out of the shadows?

You aren’t much, I said

one day to my reflection

in a green pond,

and grinned.

The wings of the moths catch the sunlight

and burn

so brightly.

At night, sometimes,

they slip between the pink lobes

of the moccasin flowers and lie there until dawn,

motionless